
Class _j__ .„ 

Book._J\l5Jl_ 

CiJBfRIGHT DEPOSm 



CHANTS WITH THE SOUL 



CHANTS 
WITH THE SOUL 

BY 
EDWARD ROBESON TAYLOR 




SAN FRANCISCO 

PRIVATELY PRINTED 

1920 



COPYRIGHT, I 920, BY EDWARD ROBESON TAYLOR 






m 



■2 \92Q 






THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED WITH DEEP AFFECTION 

TO MY SONS, EDWARD DeWITT TAYLOR Gf 

HENRY HUNTLY TAYLOR 



♦**WiLSON, Lafayette, The Aviator, and The Chant of 
Victory, have been published 171 the San Francisco Bulletin; On 
the Wings of War, published in the San Francisco Chronicle; 
and Edward Rowland Si'Lhy published in the Pacific Unitarian, 



CONTENTS 

THE SATHER TOWER Page 1 

THE SAN FRANCISCO PUBLIC LIBRARY BUILDING 6 

IN THE KEITH ROOM 9 

WITH THE POET : 

THE MIGHT OF POESY 15 

IN THE "realms OF GOLD" i6 

IN THE SILENT NIGHT 17 

PARNASSUS l8 

SCORN NOT THE WEED 19 

THE AGNOSTICS 20 

THE GARDEN OF HOPE 21 

THE OLD SCULPTOR 22 

VARIETY 23 

ON THE BEACH AT SAN FRANCISCO 24 

IN THE LIBRARY OF THE BOHEMIAN CLUB, 

SAN FRANCISCO 2^ 

THE sonnet's freedom 26 

TO THE SONNET 27 

MY DESPAIR 28 

THE SONNET TRAIL 29 

THE MUSE FINDING THE HEAD OF ORPHEUS : 

A STATUE BY EDWARD BERGE 3O 

WATTS-DUNTON AND THE SONNET 3I 

POETRY 32 

WITH NATURE : 

THE LEAST AS THE GREATEST 34 

vii 



WITH NATURE (continued) : Page 

SUNSHINE 35 

A CALIFORNIA GARDEN 36 

TO THE TREE 37 

THE MOUNTAIN PEAK 38 

THE VALLEY 39 

TWIN PEAKS, SAN FRANCISCO 4O 

THE FLOWER 4I 

WONDER 42 

CLEARING UP AFTER A SHOWER 43 

A SUMMER AFTERNOON 44 

CREATION 45 

THE CALIFORNIA POPPY 46 
WITH SOME OF THE GREAT : 

TO JULIUS Ci5:SAR 48 

BYRON 49 

TO EDWIN MARKHAM 5O 

EDWARD ROWLAND SILL 5I 

ON California's legislative declaration 

MAKING INA COOLBRITH POET LAUREATE ^2 

JOHN MUIR 53 

ON READING THE LIFE OF FRANCIS THOMPSON 

BY EVERARD MEYNELL 54 

ON READING GEORGE STERLING'S BOOK OF 
SONNETS PUBLISHED BY THE BOOK 

CLUB OF CALIFORNIA ^^ 

TO LLOYD MIFFLIN 56 

AT pollock's grave 57 
viii 



WITH SOME OF THE GREAT (continued) I 


Page 


BENJAMIN IDE WHEELER 


58 


TO HENRY MORSE STEPHENS 


59 


HENRY MORSE STEPHENS 


60 


FORREST 


61 


WILLIAM HENRY BEATTY 


62 


JEREMIAH LYNCH 


63 


JESSE WARREN LILIENTHAL 


64 


MARY WEAVER KIN CAID 


65 


TO ROBERT W. SERVICE 


66 


WILSON 


67 


LAFAYETTE 


69 


IN VARIOUS KEYS : 




BOHEMIA 


72 


A CHANT OF VICTORY 


73 


ON THE WINGS OF WAR 


74 


THE FLAG 


75 


THE YOUNG AVIATOR 


76 


ANGELS 


77 


SAN FRANCISCO I912 


78 


LOOKING DOWN ON SAN FRANCISCO AT NIGHT 


79 


THE COLUMNS OF THE SUN AT BAALBEC 


80 


THE ORGAN 


81 


CHURCH-BELLS 


82 


A STREET IN OLD MONTEREY 


83 


A CAGED EAGLE 


84 



IN VARIOUS KEYS (continued) : Page 

AN OLD MINER AT SHASTA WITH THE HAUNTS 

OF OLD 85 

EGYPT 86 

TO THE MUMMY OF PRINCESS ISIS 87 

THE OLD SWEETHEART 88 

THE OLD DOCTOR 89 

CARCASSONNE 9O 

THANKSGIVING, I918 92 

ON NEW year's eve 93 

life's jewels 94 

RICHES 94 
DE MORTUIS : 

DEATH 96 

THE GRAVE 97 

WHY FEAR? 98 

CONSOLATION 99 

LOVE 100 

BEHOLD THE SEASONS 101 

BEHOLD THE SKIES 102 

PROOF OF GOD IO3 

THE spirit's realm IO4 

religion 105 

completeness 106 

BELIEF 107 

LIFE AND DEATH I08 

MONSTER OR GOD IO9 



CHANTS WITH THE SOUL 



THE SATHER TOWER 

I 

Above the noise and tumult of the day 
Thou risest to the silences of heaven, 
A glorious thing from even unto even, 
A beauty's vision fading not away. 
It must have been a more than blessed dream, 
When all the feelings rose conjointly wise 
Against the glamour of some worldly scheme, 
That moved her heart to raise thee to the skies, 
Where thou in all thy veins of steel and stone 
With Aspiration's purest blood shall thrill, 
As evermore around thee shall be sown 
The seeds of Learning and of Righteous Will, 
And back of thee the radiant, everlasting hill. 



Gigantic flower thou, whose beauty beams 

With unimagined loveliness of Art, 

Of all the campus blossoming the heart 

And sublimated essence of its dreams ; 

Giving the fragrance of unwonted blooms 

In many a far-away, delightsome dell. 

Or where the cypress builds her heavy glooms, 

Or e'en where mild-eyed fairies love to dwell ; 

Where books disclose their magic-working lore. 

And cast their cunning lures for stumbling feet. 

While sweets as strange as life their joyance pour. 



C I 3 



Till all the moments in one round complete 
Within the arms of concord pleasurably meet. 

3 

The fateful hours of the passing day 

From thee shall ever musically peal, 

And through the somnolence of night shall steal, 

Till lost in whispering echoes far away. 

Perpetual guardian thou, whose tongue shall tell 

The lesson learnt in Indolence's bowers, 

When idle thoughts the idle bosom swell. 

And Time unreaped its wretched prey devours. 

Yet shall thy bells of ever-present cheer 

Hearten the struggle of laborious souls, 

And Trade herself will turn a listening ear. 

As she pursues her daily myriad goals. 

When mid her roar thy golden voice the minute tolls. 

4 

With hoary-headed Time a friend thou'lt be. 

And play with years as with fresh-hearted things 

As thy emblazoned crest forever springs 

Into the wondering air divinely free. 

Here shall ambitious youth its vans wide spread 

For flights beyond the rosiest dreams of hope ; 

Or if perchance on indolences fed 

With adverse circumstance it fails to cope. 

The sight of thee upsoaring lone and high. 

With Aspiration as thy soul and seal. 



And Admonition blazing in thine eye, 

Will rouse it like a battle's trumpet peal 

To every glorious thrill Achievement dares to feel. 

5 

So firmly dost thou grip the rocky ground, 

Thy beauteous form the earthquake might assail, 

And storms upon thee all their fury hail. 

Yet scatheless at the last thou wouldst be found. 

Still thou dost seem the airiest of things. 

With lofty crest which glitters in the air. 

That blooms by day a flower with radiant wings, 

At night a beacon shining starlike there. 

So ever may the men and women here 

Foundationed be in nobleness of soul. 

Unshaken by the raging storms of fear, 

A shining light for every worthy goal, 

Undaunted by life's waves however mad they roll. 

6 

Thy roots strike deeper than the claws of steel. 
And bolts and bonds that hold thee in thy place, 
For those are deep as universal space, 
And wide as every longing we can feel : 
They reach the great ideals that ever blaze 
Around the empurpled summits of desire. 
Until as conquering Gods we bless our days 
With nurturing breath of their eternal fire ; 
They stimulate the weary and the weak 

C 3 3 



To march still onward though the road be hard, 

And Difficulty's crown rejoice to seek 

Though every passageway be doubly barred, 

And watchful dragons stand relentless on their guard. 

7 

Symbol of Truth, thou ever-precious one ; 

Thy winged word speaks from thy columned stone 

With voice as clear as that of some dim, lone. 

Ice-crowned peak far reaching to the sun. 

It wakes our bosom's golden-hearted lyre. 

Until in music of seraphic strain 

It lifts our thoughts from every low desire 

Up to the wisdom of celestial gain ; 

And may thy bells ring out in clarion sound 

Truth's sacred gospel to the willing breeze. 

Till all this place in rightness be renowned, 

And till adventuring youth in season sees 

What is Life's vital wine, and what its worthless lees. 

8 

Beauty breathed gratefulness when thou wast planned 

She saw herself in brilliancy anew. 

Until from steel and stone there nobly grew 

A marvellous thing transfiguring the land. 

She saw her child as with immortal breath 

Swell to the roots with heaven-approving pride. 

As he who drew thy lines beyond all death 

In triumph stood serenely by thy side. 

i 4 3 



The Muse had roamed the chambers of his soul, 
Where domes and towers of song were glad to be, 
And there he saw thee as his perfect goal, 
In all the splendors of thy high degree. 
Thy inexpressible, divine simplicity. 

9 

Thou ceaseless monitor of worthy deeds. 

We greet thee here as some familiar friend. 

Who blessing gives us that can have no end. 

And all ennoblement forever breeds. 

Imagination sees upon thy sides 

The golden names of those that never die ; 

With those rare ones that hid their latent prides. 

Yet did their work that others raised on high ; 

With these thy stones in living glory blaze. 

Thy column seems to pierce the vaulted skies. 

And as we longer and the longer gaze, 

A reverential incense seems to rise 

And wreathe itself in hallowed words of holy praise. 



C 5 ] 



THE SAN FRANCISCO PUBLIC LIBRARY 
BUILDING 

I 

While the mad clamors of world-shaking war 

Have stunned the sickened ear and rived the heart, 

While men in millions have in valor kissed 

The awful lips of sanguinary death, 

While blood and tears in horror's streams have flowed 

As if all agonies were in their depths, 

While great cathedrals, hallowed and sublime. 

Beloved of all the ages, have been slain. 

While devastation's unrelenting hand 

Has crushed the hearted homes of joy and thrift. 

Till even pity can no longer weep. 

Peace has erected this majestic pile. 

And placed on it her everlasting crown. 

While war's dread uproars shook the frighted earth. 

The binding rivets pierced its sides of steel, 

And all its stones were then in order laid. 

Till consummation rose triumphant here. 

And she the City of our heart of heart 

Adds one more jewel to her dauntless breast, 

A jewel all immaculate and pure. 



O thou, great architecture's favored child. 
The product of our Kelham's mind and heart. 
And of those artisans whose wondrous skill 



I 6 ] 



In order followed what he had designed, 

I kneel before thee with my heart so full, 

That though my praises ran without an end, 

And though the Muses fed my great desire, 

I would remain thy hopeless debtor still, 

I yet would stand before thee wonder-rapt. 

Thou art indeed made perfect to contain 

The written thoughts of all the sons of men. 

To fructify the human soul as they 

Have ever done since speech has blest the world. 

Here safely housed these tongues of all the past 

Will speak their wisdom to the young and old. 

And never weary in their gracious task. 

Surrounded by the greatest and the best 

What intellectual soul would ask for more ; 

Or should you wish to ramble o'er the page 

With visions charming you at every turn. 

Here are the books that willingly will lead 

Your steps through all the ways you wish to go. 

Science is here with all her certitudes. 

And sweet Religion with her restful peace, 

While Art with welcoming cheer and radiant smile 

Trails her great glory o'er full many a page ; 

Here Poesy outspreads her dewy wings 

To dare the deep recesses of the heart ; 

Philosophy is here in sober gray, 

With all her weighty problems still unsolved. 

And History comes with her imperial stride 

Bearing the life-drawn word of centuries past; 

n 7 3 



Biography unrolls her marvellous tales 
Of those illustrious men who conquered fate, 
While Fiction far extends her rapturing scroll 
To tell us of experience not our own. 
Allurement here is graciousness itself, 
And fills the moments with a new delight. 
For should the book be leaden in your hands, 
Your eye may wander to the art-crowned scene 
That glows with beauty wheresoe'er you look, 
And as you drink the luxury of the hour 
The joy of thankfulness will brim your heart. 

3 

My own dear City, I bow down in thanks. 
Which rise above the level of my verse, 
That out of thy supreme munificence 
Has come to us this latest, precious gift. 
It tells us that thou art in soul so great 
Thou still canst mount the far-uptowering peaks, 
And robed in glory rule sublimely there ; 
That as in thy tremendous, trying past. 
When fire and temblor spent themselves in vain, 
So in thy future spreading vast and grand. 
Thou shalt look nobly down on every fate. 
And hold thy nestling children in thine arms 
Securely safe beneath thy boundless love. 



C 8 3 



IN THE KEITH ROOM 

I 

Upon these walls his glorious children breathe, 
And once again I sense his presence near, 
As in the past, when we sat heart to heart 
And felt the stir of loving comradeship. 
'Twas then I knew the bloom of all the years 
Would rest forever on his endless toil. 
And that the dullards of an unborn age 
Would have their eyes made bright, their hearts 

refreshed. 
For that his spirit once made glad the earth. 
And as we sit and almost feel the touch. 
As 'twere unloosening all the bonds of death. 
We joy to see his lovers thronging in, 
And as they stand in rapturous praise before 
His pictures which illuminate these walls. 
We hail an immortality that breaks 
In waves of splendor on his honored head. 
And in each moment of the day exult 
That where his canvases ennoble life. 
The incense rises of unmeasured praise. 



No mood of nature but his art has touched, 

And given to man with his transfiguring sense : 

The Dawn for him in silent mystery shod 

Has climbed the peaks till, lost we know not where, 



c 9 :! 



The sunlit morning bathed the glowing scene ; 
In truth he noted Day in all its hours, 
Whether its feet were weighted as with lead, 
Or borne along on Mercury's airy wings ; 
Whether its clouds were filled with Storm's mad 

rage. 
Or in their breast were nestled gentle dreams ; 
Whether the earth was wrapped in mist and rain, 
Or the great vault of heaven's far-reaching sky 
Bared her cerulean bosom to the Day, 
And every voice proclaimed serene repose. 
And when the Twilight binds the tired hours 
With her soft, silken cords of solemn hush. 
How he has made us feel that magic time. 
Until all nature's everlasting heart 
Seemed breathing closely to our very own. 
What voices have we heard in revery then 
As his imaginings filled all the air. 
So when the noisy Day has come to die. 
What royal couches has he spread for it. 
Whereon it might in more than sumptuous state 
Breathe out upon the land its latest breath. 
What mysteries steal through his unfathomed 

woods. 
What solemn awe comes from their inward depths. 
As though some special wonder kinged it there. 
The Meadow's lovely voice was his to know 
And bring it closer to the vulgar ear 
Until the pastoral was a heavenly joy, 

C 10 3 



And humble things of knowledges the best. 

How oft with him we trailed the cropping sheep 

Obedient to the shepherd on their way 

Unto the restful sheepfold and the night, 

As down the western heavens far-flamed the sun 

In all the splendor of his day's farewell. 

3 

Labor to him was ever sweet as is 

The choicest loaf unto a starving man, 

And on it he perpetually fed. 

But he was human to his finger-tips, 

And loved his fellow to the deepest depths. 

He met him with his heart's unbounded cheer. 

And often talked with him of idle things. 

All nature's children were to him divine. 

And every bird and flower could proudly say. 

Not one of us has fallen by his hand. 

In truth he was of virtue all compact, 

A man as worthy to be deeply loved 

As any man who ever drew a breath. 

The fairies at his birth in full foretold 

That natural beauty would command his heart. 

And so his life was prodigally spent 

In loving service at his Muse's shrine, 

Where nought escaped his sympathetic eye 

Or prayed his recognition all in vain. 

He knew the oak as mother knows her child, 

And when it on its breathing canvas shone 



In all its regal, orbed magnificence 

It told us something never told before. 

His Art is ever intimate and close, 

As is the open heart of some dear friend. 

And draws us to it as a magnet draws. 

The while it speaks of those infinitudes 

Which bring us close to everlasting things. 

4 

What is this vast, stupendous universe, 

With all its timely, great eternities. 

Its countless worlds that hang so far in space, 

But the expression of the mind divine ? 

And some of that small part in which we breathe 

Keith sought in terms of color to make plain 

To us who else might rest in ignorance. 

Base imitation had his ardent scorn ; 

He knew its devotees were false to all 

That nestled closely at the feet of Art, 

And did but grope among the husks of things. 

While all around the kernels lay profuse. 

To this great work his life was all devote : 

No holidays held off his hand, no play. 

But noble, conscientious work filled up 

The chaliced measure of his golden hours. 

Life was to him a sacred, solemn thing 

And not a bauble for the world of sport. 

Or for the idle frivol of the time. 

He did not deem his work more full or great 

c 12 ;] 



Than that of other thinking, toiling men, 

But that which had been given him to do 

Was what his mind and hand could do the best. 

Sincerity was of his spacious soul 

The very jewel without speck or flaw, 

And modesty to him was as a robe. 

He was a poet, but, like other men 

Who in the field of genius grandly sweep. 

The practical had chambers in his breast. 

Wherein were bravely wrought material things. 

Each phase of life he touched with equal ease. 

And from them all he garnered equal wealth. 

Religion kept her consecrated fires 

Upon the sacred altar of his soul, 

And there in vestal purity they blazed. 

He voyaged not upon the sea of creeds 

In search of harbors for his spirit's rest. 

But all the vasty universe was his, 

Whereon omnipotent, eternal power 

Blazed on the bosom of each lustrous star. 

Not blindly fashioned by unreasoning force 

But by an order of his soul divine. 

So this plain, simple man pursued his course, 

A loving toiler in the ways of men, 

Thinking great thoughts, and doing mighty things 

Which shall adorn the breast of Beauty's own 

Till Time and Beauty shall, if ever, part. 

Hail and farewell, thou duty-governed man ! 

Hail and farewell, thou good as well as great ! 

i 13 3 



WITH THE POET 



THE MIGHT OF POESY 

kJ ye whose world is bounded by the light 
That pours its daily wonder in your eyes, 
And see no more of life than that which lies 
In hourly struggle and in graveyard night, 
Know nought of Poesy's mysterious might, 
That bids the creatures of the heart to rise, 
And panoramas all the land and skies 
With dream-born children infinitely bright. 

Imagination in its utmost reach 
Of lightning-pinioned, mountain-soaring speech 
She gives ungrateful man in affluent store ; 
She shows him Nature with transfiguring voice, 
Which interfused with Music's magic lore 
Makes him with all divinest things rejoice. 



c: 15 ;] 



IN THE "REALMS OF GOLD" 

I ROAMED a dreamer in the "Realms of Gold," 
Where Poets' graves innumerable stood, 
And where within a neighboring cypress wood 
Their lines in fadeless letters were enscrolled. 
To men they had their costliest treasures told 
Who mammon-souled passed by in heedless mood, 
Nor even bent to list the Muse's brood 
When their most rapturing chords in passion rolled. 

And as I wandered filled with dreams of these 
That clustered round my templed memories, 
While blooms of beauty starred the golden ground, 
A ghostly band imparadised the air. 
Who with celestial glory then were crowned. 
And sang in chorus most divinely there. 



I >6 :\ 



IN THE SILENT NIGHT 

JTlOW hushed the silence of the silent Night, 
When kingly Day has lowered his haughty crest, 
And cares and troubles in unruffled rest 
Amid the stillness lose their harrowing might. 
Then tricksy fairies, dreamy with delight, 
Flit through the brain with unabated zest. 
To open visions at the soul's behest. 
All tremulous with hope that fears no blight. 

'Tis then that quiet feeds the poet's heart, 

And on the wings of his supernal art 

He mounts to heights alone his brethren know — 

The heights where asphodelian flowers bloom, 

Where joy springs buoyant from the groans of woe. 

And tears are jewels on the breast of gloom. 



c 17 :] 



PARNASSUS 

E^RNASSUS rises from the "Realms of Gold" 
In various ways of soul-created song; 
Some to the slopes and lofty peaks belong, 
While the great few to skyward reaches hold. 
All cannot breathe the ethereal airs that fold 
The summits where imaginations throng, 
But they may foot the valleys as their strong 
Yet tender stories are serenely told. 

The wise seek not the glory-crowned seat, 
Nor long to hear their wings in triumph beat. 
Nor feast on praises of adoring friends ; 
But e'en the lowliest one can serve the Muse, 
And they who greatly seek the humblest ends 
Are those dear ones she lovingly bedews. 



I i8 ] 



SCORN NOT THE WEED 

iVi Y brother, do not cast thy scornful eyes 
Upon the humblest weed that struggling blows, 
For at its inmost heart such glory glows, 
Hadst thou the mind to see, as lights the skies. 
The great chrysanthemum, that nobly vies 
In regal beauty with the proudest rose, 
In all its gorgeousness of mien still shows 
Its humble origin in every guise. 

What soul may tell in this vast scheme of things 
What depths divine to the immortal clings, 
Or see the source of every true desire *? 
It is sufficient if we choose to know 
That all is born of some celestial fire, 
Which ofttimes makes an angel of the low. 



1 19 :! 



THE AGNOSTICS 

ON READING THE "MEMORIES" OF EDWARD CLODD 

1 N worship of the Sciences that rear 

Their austere summits in ethereal air, 

In calm superiority they fare 

Along the "Don't-know" road they domineer. 

'Tis Reason's voice alone that claims their ear, 

And this gives certitude to their despair. 

While Intuition, deeply hearted where 

Life speeds divinely on, they scorn to hear. 

Oh, can it be that of this grandeur's space 

We can grasp nought but that its wondrous race 

Is but the product of some errant force ; 

That all this miracle proclaims no God, 

No soul-inspiring, spiritual Source, 

And that great man himself is but a clod*? 



20 



THE GARDEN OF HOPE 

JrlOPE'S garden springs in every human breast, 
Where fadeless blossoms grow beneath his care, 
While melodies delight the fragrant air 
That folds us in an atmosphere of rest. 
The gorgeous castles roseate clouds invest, 
And argosies no storm can harm are there, 
With maidens incommunicably fair, 
Whom Revery leads to dreamlands of the blest. 

At times the North Wind breathes upon the blooms, 
Until Despair makes mock amid his glooms. 
With Faith a mourner helpless in her tears ; 
But Hope, divinely radiant of mien, 
Scatters full soon the host of coward fears. 
And rules once more triumphant and serene. 



21 



THE OLD SCULPTOR 

1 HE plow of age has furrowed all his face, 
And by the weight of years his form is bent ; 
The fires that once were in his bosom pent 
Burn feebly now where fled is every grace. 
In this old, shuffling man we find no trace 
Of earth's ambitions save to be content 
To dwell apart and give his nature vent 
In carving things that Art would fain embrace. 

Does Beauty come from Beauty's self alone? 
Ah, no ; the pine makes proud the mountain stone, 
The rose blooms greatly on the ordured heap ; 
The ugliest shape the noblest soul may bear. 
And as this thought into the mind sinks deep 
The aged sculptor seems transfigured there. 



C " 3 



VARIETY 

Variety is Nature's pregnant sign 
That in creation does itself disclose ; 
Minutest change from great to small she shows 
In every shrub and flower and clustering vine ; 
For closely scan this heaven-aspiring pine, 
Its needles vary as it upward grows, 
And note with care this beauty-grested rose. 
Whose every petal takes a new design. 

So Life is neither wholly good nor bad, 

But, with celestial armor ever clad, 

It sweeps the universe with conquering wings. 

Men vary as the leaves upon the tree. 

But 'tis for them to heed the voice that sings 

Eterne on Virtue's lips in every key. 



C 23 3 



ON THE BEACH AT SAN FRANCISCO 

1 HOU myriad-hearted Ocean, on whose breast 

That stretches boundlessly its waste of gray, 

Mine eye is fain in indolence to play, 

As all my thoughts to quiet are caressed. 

I watch thy surge build high its curving crest, 

To break in lacelike, delicate array, 

Where children plash inordinately gay, 

While age-dimmed eyes with newer light are blest. 

Thou one of every mood, I see thee now 

With God's beneficence upon thy brow. 

With all that's awful in thy raging might ; 

Yet though men's bones in millions pave thy floor. 

And treasures vast thou seal'st in caves of night. 

Angels of good still tend thee evermore. 



C 24 3 



IN THE LIBRARY OF THE BOHEMIAN 
CLUB, SAN FRANCISCO 

With finger on her lip, Silence sits here 

In languorous robes of gossamer bedight, 

As veiled in softness of the sifted light 

She seems so deeply, infinitely dear. 

Poet, Philosopher, Historian, Seer, 

These, from their book-built thrones which thrill 

the sight. 
Appeal with eloquence of loving might 
To feed our souls on their exhaustless cheer. 

Ye glorious Gods of men, grant that we may 
Your subjects be when strident grows the day, 
Or leaden spirits lag through wearied brains ; 
Then shall we roam o'er fields of thought sublime, 
And far beyond the realm where Mammon reigns 
Defy the hateful tyranny of Time. 



c ^5 ;] 



THE SONNET'S FREEDOM 

Why laboring spin your cobweb sonnets, you 
That might some lofty tower of song design ; 
Why in a cage great Poesy confine 
When all the boundless ether lies in view ? 
Ah, critic friend, within the narrowest mew 
Pearls have been born so preciously divine 
They bear the Muse's most incorporate sign, 
And deathless live as beautiful as true. 

The souls that have the Sonnet sanctified 
Felt it no prison, but with bars as wide 
As has the ocean or the starlit air ; 
The small in size may have the largest heart, 
And in the sight of all the Muses bear 
Upon its breast the conquering badge of Art. 



c ^6 :i 



TO THE SONNET 

1 HESE many, many years I've toiled o'er thee, 
Pursued thine octave's hard and thorny way. 
And sought thy sestette's mandates to obey, 
That mine one perfect flower of song might be — 
A bloom so moulded by thy form's decree, 
Its various music in melodial play, 
That it could tempt the generous Muse to say, 
Behold your hope of immortality. 

But vain the task if I could bend the bow ; 
The Sonnet is despised though it could know 
The loveliest numbers of elysian spheres — 
The form that Dante, Petrarch, Angelo 
Blest with divinest song ; where Keats careers. 
And Wordsworth's myriad strains sublimely flow. 



C ^7 3 



MY DESPAIR 

IHOU precious Sonnet, casket ever dear, 
Compacted jewels aggregate in thee 
Of such immeasurable, high degree, 
That none of thine own race can be thy peer. 
Thou hast upborne the strains of many a near 
And many a distant Muse's devotee, 
Who have on song's illimitable sea 
Voyaged to harbors of eternal cheer. 

I can but own thou hast been good to me, 

For time and oft, beneath thy just decree. 

My prayers were answered at thy sacred shrine ; 

But still I lift the agonizing cry, 

To build but one great Sonnet, one divine. 

One soaring, faultless thing that cannot die. 



C ^8 ] 



THE SONNET TRAIL 

U PWARD he climbs to reach the soaring height 

In whose ethereal, heart-enrapturing air 

The masters wrought great sonnet gems, and there 

To build a deathless one of life and light ; 

But while of it Hope dimly catches sight, 

His eyes see only fruitlessness, and stare 

At that far distant region in despair. 

And down he falls in deep Parnassian night. 

Dear Sonnet-Muse, do not unpitying feel 
That all his soul is not as firmly leal 
As when the blood ran youthful in his veins ; 
Ah, this can never be, but let him lie 
Where he in ecstasy may hear thy strains 
And see the speechless wonders of thy sky. 



C ^9 3 



THE MUSE FINDING THE HEAD OF 
ORPHEUS: A STATUE BY 
EDWARD BERGE 

O ORPHEUS dear, Apollo's radiant one, 
Is all I find of thee this beauteous head ^ 
Were Jove's dread thunderbolts asleep or dead 
When this mad murder was in baseness done *? 
Alas ! his lyre its loved career has run : 
No more the lion to its tones will tread, 
No more by it the forest's brood be led. 
Nor quivering rocks leap rapturous to the sun. 

Yet Music still will hold thee as her own 
Whose ghostly strains immortal will be blown 
From mountain peak to mountain peak of song ; 
While poets clasp thee to their starry breast, 
And on their wings ethereal borne along 
Mount with new glory on their ceaseless quest. 



C 30 n 



WATTS-DUNTON AND THE SONNET 

WaTTS-DUNTON, rich in literary lore, 
And of Apollo's royal brotherhood, 
Says that the octave of the Sonnet should 
Run like the eager wave that seeks the shore ; 
And that, the fury of the billow o'er. 
Its slow subsidence to the ocean would 
Point then the sestette to its needed good — 
The two uniting in a perfect score. 

Yet, sonnet-winged, what deathless verses fly 
Through Poesy's illimitable sky. 
With movement various-winged as Music wills ; 
And here Minerva's golden voice would say, 
If Form, and nought else, all your vision fills, 
Your soulless work will perish in a day. 



I 31 3 



POETRY 

Who dares to say that Poetry is not, 
Or having been has now lain down to die, 
Know nought of that deep, wonder-working eye 
Which domes and palaces the meanest spot ; 
That sees yon gorgeous cloud a royal cot 
Whereon the wearied Day is fain to lie ; 
Or can the fairies at their sport espy 
Within the rose by radiant arrows shot. 

Nor do they hear the soul's tremendous lyre 
When Poetry, aflame with wild desire, 
Strikes from its lavish strings immortal strains- 
Strains ever born within the spirit's cell. 
To lift all baseness from its paltry gains, 
And set it for a time where angels dwell. 



C 3^ 1 



WITH NATURE 



THE LEAST AS THE GREATEST 

W HEN on a rosy-bosomed cloud I sail 

In luring Fancy's music-haunted air, 

In hope some beauty-breathing creature there 

Will bless mine ear with an unwonted tale ; 

Or when Imagination would prevail 

Upon my prisoned, torturing thoughts to dare 

Some peak-encircled, eagle-loving lair, 

Lament unbosoms her despairing wail. 

Then on the wings of an immortal song 

I find me borne in ecstasy along 

To where rejoice the children of the soul; — 

For still the Muse has myriad-stringed her harp, 

And as Life craves the music of the whole, 

Why should we ever at the smallest carp *? 



C 34 3 



SUNSHINE 

1 HE clouds in thickening squadrons thronged the sky 
Wherefrom the streaming rain insistent fell, 
And dark the village lay as though some spell 
Had breathed upon the day's all-gladdening eye. 
The wind as willing aid went storming by, 
Howling triumphant in the lonely dell, 
While roared the swollen waters that could tell 
A tale would make destruction's self to sigh. 

But lo, the storm has closed its wings, for plays 
Upon the church's spire the fulgent rays 
That broadening flush with splendor all the scene, 
And times there are, so steeped in fearsome gloom, 
We feel our days would nevermore be green. 
When sudden sunshine fills our souls with bloom. 



I 35 3 



A CALIFORNIA GARDEN 

1 HE chaliced tulips, bravely scarleted, 
And brimming with the sun's gold-hearted wine, 
To us are nodding with memorial sign 
From out the splendors of their pansied bed. 
The virgin Spring has such refulgence shed 
Upon their cheeks with her caress divine. 
That Beauty there might evermore recline. 
Nor dream that any of her kin were dead. 

Near by the elm-trees snow their vernal bloom. 
The droning bees among the blossoms boom, 
And distantly a joyful songster trills ; 
While in our hearts contentment's tranquil airs, 
From out the bosom of celestial hills. 
Soothe to repose all peace-tormenting cares. 



C 36 -} 



TO THE TREE 

OENEATH thy verdurous arch I love to lie, 

And on thy life serenely ruminate, 

On things that hang upon the doom of fate, 

On all the panoramas passing by. 

The happy birds to thee in numbers fly, 

To tell their love with joys that never bate. 

The patient kine, the dreamer, idler, sate 

Their ease beneath thy branches as do I. 

What strength and beauty in thy curving limb, 
How fair thy leaves as in the air they swim. 
Or when the breeze their lovely being stirs. 
Earth's giant child ! she loves thee as her best : 
In life thy body and thy soul are hers. 
In death thou fall'st to fructify her breast. 



c 37 :\ 



THE MOUNTAIN PEAK 

1 HOU mountain's topmost peak, that towers too high 

For man to lay his friendly cheek on thine, 

Companioned by the silences divine 

Thou canst behold the worlds with quiet eye. 

No tree here smiles in gladness on the sky, 

Of lovely bloom and grass there is no sign. 

And ice and snow a wreath round thee entwine, 

That man and all his skill dare not defy. 

Thou'rt like some spirit purged of earthly dross, 

Who waiting calmly for the torturing cross, 

In isolated grandeur stands alone ; 

Whose eye sees through our life's material pall, 

And ranging round the spiritual zone 

Views God in gloried splendor over all. 



n 38 :i 



THE VALLEY 

IT. OW sweet this vale where bending willows lean 
Above the glistening stream that hastes away, 
Mingling its music through the livelong day 
With that of all the creatures of the green. 
What avenues invite where we may glean 
Some wondrous thing forgotten by the fay, 
Or bid the eye some noble tree survey, 
Or hunt for blooms the loveliest ever seen. 

Beneath this giant oak's wide-spreading arms 

Let us now lie, and, free from all alarms. 

Adventure boldly to the Land of Dream, 

Where gorgeous castles float in roseate air. 

Where maidens find their prince, where dazzling teem 

All things beyond the power of despair. 



t 39 J 



TWIN PEAKS, SAN FRANCISCO 

1 SEE you rise beyond the surging street, 
O Peaks beloved, so divinely fair, 
That Nature's boldest courage would despair 
To mould and garnish others more complete. 
Whether the gray-hued mists of ocean bear 
Their streamers o'er you, or the sun's kiss greet 
Your lovely bloom and blade, or moonbeams meet 
To weave new beauties in your freshening air. 

Full oft mine eyes behold you as the breasts 
Of some huge Goddess whose benign behests 
Upon the City of her love are laid ; 
And from her sounding lips then fancy hears 
Prophetic words my dreaming sees arrayed 
In deeds that shake immortally the years. 



i 40 3 



THE FLOWER 

IHIS tiny seed that bears no future's sign, 
Which has no word of loveliness to say, 
Within the waiting earth I gently lay. 
And lo ! a dazzling miracle is mine : 
A beauteous creature, carved by hand divine. 
Springs like a spirit to the light of day, 
So wonderful in all its great array 
We dare not deem it less than God's design. 

All color's essence of the lands and skies 

Upon its fragrant, fragile petal lies. 

That wantons in the breeze with newer grace. 

Look in its inmost heart and thrill to see 

All beauties of the universal space. 

All mystery that has been or that shall be. 



c 41 :\ 



WONDER 

1 HE redbird's whistle and the catbird's mew, 
How oft I've heard them when my years were young- 
Heard them until their beads of song were strung 
On threads whose music all their knowledge knew. 
We could but pause that melody might strew 
The woodland with its heart's ecstatic tongue, 
And then on spirit wings they gladly sprung 
To where Creation throned herself anew. 

O wondrous one, we marvel as of yore 

That you should live alone with mystery's lore. 

For none can pierce the miracle of things. 

The great-souled eagle of imperial eye. 

Can he outbeat the mallard's awesome wings, 

Or regal condor of Andean sky *? 



c 42 :i 



CLEARING UP AFTER A SHOWER 

JJURING these golden moments has the rain 
Withdrawn its drops at mandate of the sun, 
Whose silver lances at the cloud's edge run 
And glint along the woodland's lovely train. 
All nature thrills as with new-hearted strain, 
The crystal stream a deeper note has won, 
While every leaf rejoices till there's none 
Whose voice from benediction can refrain. 

Thou ceaseless miracle of earth and sky. 
What doubts consume us when we fain would try 
To voyage round the smallest of thine isles ; 
And when we helpless drift off Beauty's shore 
Amid the ripples of her radiant smiles, 
We can but touch her garment and adore. 



I 43 1 



A SUMMER AFTERNOON 

i\ O better day than this could fortune own, 
This afternoon of undivided rest, 
Where nothing heavier sits upon the breast 
Than thistle-down by fairy fingers thrown. 
Above, the barn bears silence deeply lone ; 
Below, the wain with gathered hay oppressed 
Wheels to its home ; the pigeons seek their nest. 
While every air is quiet as a stone. 

How full of tranquil bliss this rural scene. 
Where discord cannot breathe, and where we glean 
Some foretaste of the joys of hallowed peace; 
Here Beauty spreads her uncorrupted wings. 
And here a blessedness that cannot cease 
Through all the heart with inspiration sings. 



c 44 ;] 



CREATION 

Yea, Life is ours with all its gains, 

With all its losses too, 

And skies are swept by storms and rains, 

Then blossom into blue ; 

Nor can Death stranger be than Life, 

If we but clearly see^ 

That though they seem to be at strife, 

They in the end agree ; 

For in Creation's breast they meet. 

To make eternal things complete. 



C 45 3 



THE CALIFORNIA POPPY 

When winter's rains have drenched the arid earth, 

And thrown a mantle green upon the dearth, 

And welcome sunshine greets the coming year. 

While Beauty spreads her glories far and near, 

Then the great Sun, with pride of power blown, 

Not yet content with wonders of his hand, 

A glorious image of himself he planned — 

The Golden Poppy — California's own. 

Its wondrous cup he filled with his bright beams 

And warmed them with the love of poet's dreams ; 

And so it sleeps until its satin cheeks 

Its parent's kiss in ecstasy bespeaks. 

Thou glorious one, of nature thou dost share 

A feathery bed of foliage, whence thy fair 

And stately stalk arises in the air. 

Bearing thy cup, a marvel to behold. 

From out whose depths a stream of priceless gold 

Pours through all nature's veins with wealth untold. 



C 46 ] 



WITH SOME OF THE GREAT 



TO JULIUS CiESAR 

IHOU mighty-souled, thou myriad-minded one, 
The greatest of the few supremely great, 
To thee in star-crowned, solitary state 
The streams of thought still swelling ever run. 
Thy slayers knew not what their hands had done, 
For through thy bosom's murder-rended gate 
Poured the rich blood prepotent to create 
An age-long rule beneath the Empire's sun. 

Though War's fell demons drenched thee with their wine. 
Law's wound-effacing ministers were thine. 
And Peace around thee sowed her quickening seed ; 
Dissension shrank beneath thy mastering hand. 
While Rome, long tortured, ceasing then to bleed, 
Uprose to heights immeasurably grand. 



C 48 3 



BYRON 

JiJyRON still grandly lives; his crater's fire 
Was born to gush with heart-consuming pain ; 
The world still owns the splendor of his reign, 
And wreathes with immortelle that throbbing lyre, 
Where passion cries with unappeased desire, 
Where loftiest thought evokes its loftiest strain 
Amid the mockeries of fierce disdain 
And scorn of cant red hot with scourging ire. 

As restless and as ample as the sea, 
And as its winds unconquerably free, 
He was defiantly the challenger of things. 
Revolt surged rampant in his every vein. 
And at the last, borne on by mighty wings. 
He spilled his life-blood on his brother's chain. 



C 49 3 



TO EDWIN MARKHAM 

\J MASTER of imperial song, we greet 
You here triumphant as we have before, 
And lay, enriched by your abounding store. 
Our love in heaping garlands at your feet. 
We hail you now as one who takes his seat 
Among the immortals of poetic lore. 
Who can in high, enchanted regions soar. 
Yet hold his friendly comradeship complete. 

We praise you not for one undying song 
That rolled its thunderous protest far along 
Until a newer hope bestarred the sky ; 
But more because from your consummate art 
Others have sprung that in our memories lie 
As jewels garnered from your deepest heart. 



C 50 1 



EDWARD ROWLAND SILL 

1 HE heart of Nature throbbed against his own : 

Deep-nested in the grass he loved to lie 

And watch the wonders of the earth and sky, 

Till in his being's self their souls were grown ; 

He floated with the cloud above him blown, 

The winds were his, the streamlet murmuring by, 

The tree his brother was, while soaring high 

On Hope's vast wings he ranged Faith's farthest zone. 

Beauty was his beyond man's niggard worth; 
Her fairies blest him from his very birth, 
And at his wand the Venus breathed anew. 
Though early doomed, he made no wail nor whine, 
But on he strode a spirit brave and true, 
Still living greatly on the things divine. 



C 51 1 



ON CALIFORNIA'S LEGISLATIVE 

DECLARATION MAKING INA COOLBRITH 

POET LAUREATE 

IHE State of California, in its hand 
The Golden Poppy, is before her now. 
And on her stainless and resplendent brow 
Inscribes its Muse's titular command. 
And all the children of our golden land 
In jubilation with approval bow, 
As her with chorused praises they allow 
Immortal union with Apollo's band. 

So, Ina Coolbrith, thus you ever are 

Our all unfading, brightly glowing star. 

That adds new glory to poetic skies ; 

A pioneer with California's own, 

Who labored hard and with supernal cries 

Upraised and placed her on empurpled throne. 



C 52 ] 



JOHN MUIR 

JtIE knew all things he trod beneath his feet, 

His sympathizing brother was the tree, 

And any blade his piercing eye could see 

Was his with passionate wonderment to greet. 

Nature was his with open breast to meet, 

And at her sacred shrine to bend the knee. 

There to uplift his praise in such degree 

It seemed that Prayer had made his soul her seat. 

The glacier warmed to him and told its tale. 
To him the mountain held a newer grail, 
While streams made music never heard before. 
To his deep sense the Lord in glory shone, 
And gave his being such celestial store 
Priestly he seemed, supernal and alone. 



I 53 ^ 



ON READING 

THE LIFE OF FRANCIS THOMPSON 

BY EVERARD MEYNELL 

What gold and dust were mingled in the veins 
Of this great singer ; through what awful mire 
He dragged his Orphic, consecrated lyre ; 
What freedom's glory his ; what hell's own chains. 
And yet his Muse with heavenly lustre reigns : 
All fathomless the depths of his desire, 
And bosomed with the holiest vestal fire 
Pours the deep stream of his immortal strains. 

A child he seems to whom is given to bear 
Jewels that blaze magnificently rare 
O'er distant peaks that mock men's straining gaze ; 
We watch him as he flies from height to height. 
Dreading and doubting, till with vast amaze 
We see him star-crowned in a blaze of light. 



C 54 3 



ON READING 

GEORGE STERLING'S BOOK OF SONNETS 

PUBLISHED BY THE BOOK CLUB 

OF CALIFORNIA 

1 HE unfamiliar grips us as we stray- 
Through Sterling's Sonnet world : flame-hearted things 
Conquer the boundlessness of space on wings 
That dreams have fashioned in their wildest play. 
From far horizons unexplored are they, 
All richly robed in deep imaginings, 
And tuned to music that triumphant sings 
As they sweep on their cyclopean way. 

What dim-discovered lands through mists arise, 
What marvellous forms, what magic-woven skies, 
What kings and demons breathe in haunted air. 
What thoughts lie captive in his master line, 
While Beauty revels in her glory there 
Fresh as from virgin mould and as divine. 



C 55 1 



TO LLOYD MIFFLIN 

iVllFFLIN, by all the Muses sonnet-crowned, 

Could I but raise my struggling verse to where 

Thou roamest free, the starry heights to dare. 

It would world-listening praises of thee sound ; 

For Art in thee a devotee has found 

Who has through all his years but sought to bear 

Her blazoned banner in the radiant air, 

While dewing with his blood her sacred ground. 

What noble struggle thine from day to day, 

To give great being to the lifeless clay. 

And bid thy canvas glory-colored thrill ; 

While Poesy has held thee so at call. 

Thy vibrant numbers Thought's vast chambers fill. 

And on the ear in golden music fall. 



c 56 :i 



AT POLLOCK'S GRAVE 

JN O bosom-nourished blossoms ever blow, 
The wild grass withers on the desolate ground, 
No meanest marking headstone can be found. 
Where he who soared so high now lies so low. 
For him "the air is chill" ; no longer flow 
His tears for lost Olivia ; no more is bound 
The Falcon to the rocks all doom-encrowned ; 
His Chandos Picture's spectres, who can know^ 

Apollo's child, thy fate is but the one 

Of him who makes a brother of the sun. 

And in the "Realms of Gold" bears dazzling light ; 

Thou art a member of that radiant host 

That holds its torch before men's blinded sight, 

And dies all unregarded at his post. 



C 57 3 



BENJAMIN IDE WHEELER 

U PON the heights a victor Wheeler stands, 
Spread out before him Learning's rolling spheres, 
And where, companioned by the fruitful years. 
He rose responsive to all great demands. 
He never built upon the shifting sands. 
Nor paused at pessimism's idle tears. 
But armed with truth he had no coward fears, 
And reared his temples with a master's hands. 

Oh, golden day of days whereon was found 
Our Education's Chief, whom we have crowned 
As one who mounted to the topmost goal. 
The University is blazoned high. 
And on its loftiest panel man will scroll 
Forevermore his name that cannot die. 



C 58 3 



TO HENRY MORSE STEPHENS 

JdELOVED mentor of historic lore, 

From loftiest peak my muse would fain resound 

Thy volumed praises as she sees thee crowned 

With laurel that shall live forevermore; 

And with the leaves of those loved trees that soar 

Where Beauty and the Owl drink peace profound, 

And which still hymn thy Patrick all renowned 

Among the treasures of Bohemia's store. 

But while around our souls those joys entwine, 
For love of thee our hearts have raised a shrine 
Where flames in crystal air a vestal light; 
And as thou hast escaped the grasp of death, 
We fondly hold thee to our greedy sight. 
And shout our welcome with our dearest breath. 



C 59 n 



HENRY MORSE STEPHENS 

1 N soul and body great, a marvellous one, 
Who delved unceasingly in history's lore, 
With mind that could in freedom grandly soar 
Where blazed in triumph Learning's mighty sun. 
And humor's rivers with delight did run 
From sparkling fountains of his being's core ; 
While bounteous he, and yet his liberal store 
Lagged far behind what he could wish were done. 

Death came to him so suddenly it thrilled 
Our hearts with wonder to behold thus stilled 
The undiminished splendor of his years ; 
But as we march along scholastic ways 
We see his star through memory's mist of tears 
Outglow in glory all our loftiest praise. 



C 60 n 



FORREST 

Jrl OW few the actors who have climbed the skies 

Until, by universal vision seen, 

Upon their brow we hail immortal green. 

And as to Forrest give the glittering prize. 

With what majestic mien does he arise. 

To whose grand voice all accents could convene. 

From rolling thunder to the mild serene. 

While passion played upon our vanquished eyes. 

We ride upon the vision of his Lear 
As though upon some stream of sorrow's fear 
That rouses portents never known before. 
So in our memory deeper still he makes 
Macbeth's deep hell, and higher yet we soar 
With gentle Hamlet mid the tangled brakes. 



C 6i J 



WILLIAM HENRY BEATTY 

CHIEF JUSTICE OF THE SUPREME COURT OF CALIFORNIA 
FOR TWENTY-SIX YEARS 

JTl E was a royal man from top to toe, 

With head bespeaking thought, bright, beaming eye, 

A mien majestical, and spirit high 

That bore him loftily above the low. 

Still life to him meant work, not empty show ; 

On the old ways he firmly dared rely. 

Yet could injustice to its teeth defy, 

And sought forevermore the right to know. 

The Law to him was as a sacred shrine, 
A bannered splendor and a certain sign 
For man beyond all question to obey. 
As true he was as vestal to her vow, 
And as the requiem floats above his clay 
Undying honor sits upon his brow. 



c 62 :\ 



JEREMIAH LYNCH 

JL/YNCH breathed a throbbing life at every pore, 

And drained its essence to the very deep, 

Until he seemed its freshnesses to keep 

As some perpetual spring of boundless store. 

In Egypt and her vast, mysterious lore 

He delved with all her wonderments to reap ; 

And through the Klondyke and her icy sleep 

He plowed a way that men still marvel o'er. 

So when corruption raised its sceptred sway 
Against his city as its certain prey. 
He smote it with his spiritual might; 
And with all courage girt, hard bearing down. 
Like some crusader with his arms of light. 
He won the victor's honor-gloried crown. 



C 63 3 



JESSE WARREN LILIENTHAL 

»!!)OME men there are who seem to walk the ground 
With understanding of tremendous might, 
That can the crooked straighten into right, 
And all disturbers to their teeth confound, 
And yet with hearts that in their depths abound 
With love for all the things that meet the sight, 
And who with souls that on the topmost height 
Find beauty, grace, and every heavenly sound. 

Such wast thou, Jesse Lilienthal, whose brow 

With thy exalted worth is blazing now, 

Until it bids us to commercial pause. 

A member of Isaiah's remnant thou. 

Who drew great breaths of his inspired cause, 

And ever kept his fellow-serving vow. 



1 64 :\ 



MARY WEAVER KINCAID 

L^IKE some imperial oak she grandly stood, 
That weds itself in power to the ground, 
And gazing in serenity around 
Looms the great splendor of the neighborhood; 
Unconscious of the all pervasive good 
Its mighty arms in peaceful joy surround, 
It lives its life with benefactions crowned, 
And by the loveliest dryads retinued. 

The breeze may gently toss its leaflets fair. 
The stormy winds may wrench them to despair. 
Yet the tree stands and makes with life its peace ; 
So her, the fiercest storms could not dismay. 
Nor could seductive calms her hold release. 
But on she pressed to her successful day. 



i: 6s 3 



TO ROBERT W. SERVICE 

1 HOU art, O Service, such a human soul 
As man has seldom seen in storm or wild, 
A block of nature pure and undefiled, 
Where mountains soar and matchless rivers roll. 
Thou seest man where lack of law's control 
Gives him to life a mad unreconciled. 
In every thought bedeviled and beguiled. 
And gathering nothing save the devil's dole. 

The endless reach of silence-hearted snows 
Wherethrough the magisterial Yukon flows, 
Where blizzards bite their victims to the bone ; 
And where the woman with her luring wile 
Outbreathes such fumes as hell would joy to own, 
Till man is lost in oceans of the vile. 



I 66 ] 



WILSON 

What soul can top our Wilson of the ones 

That held for us the power-compelling reins, 

And seemed impressed with heavenly-minted seals ^ 

We hate comparisons, but where shall we, 

Except among our best, his equal find*? 

For does he not in bluest ether stand, 

A blazoned spirit bravely holding high 

The standard of humanity and right? 

Is not the pearl of speech his gift divine 

Whereon his language feeds that trances men? 

To see how large he is, behold how small 

The Senators who snap and snarl at him, 

And vainly think they are made great when they, 

Inflated, carp at him with bellowing rage ; 

And fail to heed that mere resounding words 

That fill the thoughtful listener with disgust 

Are but the playthings of the idle winds. 

This Treaty, born of Wilson's mighty heart, 

Must now be taken at its precious worth — 

A thing sublimest, for it yields the hope 

Of throttling once for all the beast of war — 

A beast who has upon this pleasant earth 

Wrought havoc and destruction's awful waste. 

With blood of man that swims in boundless depths. 

The words of all the languages must fail 

To strike its horrors in completion's vast. 

And now this man — our monumental hope — 

c 67 :i 



Lies with his eyes upon this Treaty fixed, 

While illness grips him hard upon the throat. 

Dear God, we pray Thee, he may struggle through, 

And grant at this inimitable hour 

No thing may fail him that with him should be. 

Let Optimism's brightest banners wave 

Till all her army of supernal light 

Sweep in proud glory round his honored bed. 

And from that bed may he serenely rise 

Clothed in the radiance of abundant health, 

And with the Victory of the Treaty crowned. 



C 68 3 



LAFAYETTE 

What day is this whose glorious name 
Stands calling at Columbia's ear, 
What star is this whose quenchless flame 
Resplendent shines from year to year? 
The natal day, the full-blown star. 
Of him we knew in peace and war. 
Of him we never can forget — 
The blameless hero, Lafayette. 

As long as History's iron pen 
Shall to her task in honor turn. 
Or patriot fires in hearts of men 
All purely, unconsuming burn, 
We should rejoicing's sacred praise 
Above commercial tumult raise, 
And vow we never shall forget 
The freedom-passioned Lafayette. 

Oh, how can we pass by this day, 

And not live o'er the precious time, 

When he with hope cast fear away, 

And he, a Hercules sublime. 

Rose high, scarce more than stripling youth, 

On wings of liberty and truth, 

And was what we shall ne'er forget — 

The courage-dowered Lafayette. 

I 69 ] 



With what serenity he strode 
Along the ways of Washington, 
And bore unflinchingly his load 
Beneath the brilliance of that sun, 
Till, laurel-wreathed, all stately he 
Stood in Fame's Temple, v/hile the free 
Resolved they never would forget 
The glory-blazoned Lafayette. 

And there today he stands the pride 
America would not forego. 
While all her children by his side 
Their praiseful trumpets joy to blow. 
Our souls are fed when thus we sound 
The name of him the world around. 
And thrill that we can ne'er forget 
Our heart's immortal, Lafayette. 



c 70 :i 



IN VARIOUS KEYS 



BOHEMIA 

Why do we love our dear Bohemia so *? 
Because the soul of fellowship is there ; 
Because before her doors we drop all care, 
And bid the fires of sentiment to glow. 
Life there on widest wings of joy would go, 
And every vein of wit and humor dare, 
While to her blossomy heights she thrills to bear 
The priceless jewels men are proud to know. 

Within her sacred ground Tradition hives 
In honeyed store a line of laureled lives, 
That makes a fadeless splendor of her day ; 
And hallowed Memory visits oft her halls, 
To linger long and tenderly essay 
The themes that once had glorified her walls. 



C 72 1 



A CHANT OF VICTORY 

JULY 14, 1919 

1 N this triumphant day of days 

We lift her to the skies, 

That there consummately may blaze 

The ardor of her eyes, 

That there, O France, thy lily's bloom 

On every Frenchman's breast 

May with resplendence newly loom 

And be with glory blest. 

How rent and torn these four long years 

The homes your precious own, 

What dreadful glooms, what sickening fears 

You knew as yours alone : 

But now the deep-souled Chanteclair 

Sounds loud his glorious throat. 

And Victory from the thrilling air 

Responds with golden note. 

Do ye not hear it. Frenchmen all. 

Until your heartstrings quiver, 

And at the feet of France you fall 

Forever and forever ^ 

Know now that all your glooms are gone, 

Know that the sun is here, 

And that on Victory's mighty throne 

Sits France without a fear, 

c 13 :\ 



ON THE WINGS OF WAR 

AUGUST, 1918 

We ride upon the wings of war, 

And would no other ride ; 

We hail its blood-encrimsoned star 

Our one and only guide. 

Let Treasons come 

And Peace's sum, 

War's ruin waits them deep and wide. 

On these in scorn of doubt's despite, 

Or tempting compromise. 

Or propaganda swift to smite. 

Unhindered still we rise, 

In hope that we 

Shall greatly see 

The starry wonder of the skies — 

The wonder that both day and night, 

On heaven's empurpled scroll. 

We read in flaming splendor, Fight 

Until you reach the goal, 

Fight till the blood 

Runs down in flood. 

Fight to the grandeur of your soul. 



C 74 ] 



God of our Fathers, keep us true, 

Upon this fateful ride; 

Let us in Freedom's boundless blue 

Breathe nought but Freedom's pride, 

Until at last. 

All dangers passed. 

With honor's peace we can abide. 



THE FLAG 

Blest emblem of the mighty free, 
Undaunted, stainless shalt thou be 
As long as Liberty shall own 
Our homage and our souls alone. 

Oh, be it thus forevermore. 
Make it our still increasing store. 
Till in the utmost night of time 
Men treasure nothing more sublime. 



I 75 -2 



THE YOUNG AVIATOR 

INSATIATE youth would make his dazzling prize 
The eagle's element, and proudly learn 
From farthest reaches of the air to earn 
Enough to make man dangerously wise. 
Then Science, with Hephsestus to advise, 
The monster built, whereby with mad concern 
The eager youth the solid earth dared spurn 
And all the winged creatures of the skies. 

As distance flees before him, and he seems 
Within the consummation of his dreams, 
The winds incensed smite him with ruin dire ; 
But he has felt transfiguring, mighty things, 
And from the ashes of his vast desire 
Shall grandly rise unconquerable wings. 



c 76 n 



ANGELS 

Is heaven the home of angels, did you say, 
And there alone their virtues can be found, 
Where spirits in ascending rank abound, 
And on the soul transfiguring essence lay^ 
Indeed, they swarm on every earthly way, 
Bearing their harps of most melodial sound, 
And with unwithering leaves in glory crowned 
The saving graces of mankind obey. 

The gentle bathe with sweetness many a sore; 
They fearless wade through war's abhorrent gore. 
And soothe the bosom's anguish into sleep ; 
The gifted ones their songs and dreams unchain, 
Until in mighty choruses they sweep 
From end to end of nature's wide domain. 



C 77 ^ 



SAN FRANCISCO 1912 

lO her the Past is now a dream 
Where every glory holds its way, 
And where the Present dares to deem 
The Future's hand on her shall lay 
Such treasure of achievement's gold, 
That in his arms her saint shall fold 
His favored daughter on his breast, 
And say to all mankind, Behold 
This wonder of the wondrous West, 
This one my Serra raised for me. 
This mighty one whose radiant crest 
In matchless splendor pales the rest, 
This one that by Balboa's sea 
Sits robed and crowned immortally. 



C 78 ] 



LOOKING DOWN ON SAN FRANCISCO 
AT NIGHT 

1 HE noisy day is done, and now I see 
My City lying in the arms of Night, 
So lovely, so magnificently dight, 
I bend once more to her my loyal knee. 
The starred emblazonment above me she 
Twins with yon seas of scintillating light ; 
Yet still amid this miracle of sight 
The Spirit's voices raise their poignant plea : 

O thou that Serra in his vision saw. 

Hast thou obeyed thy soul's flame-written law, 

Or hast thou sought for gems in Mammon's mire ? 

Wilt thou not glorify thy saintly name, 

And nobly forge in Consecration's fire 

Great deeds unsullied by the touch of shame? 



c 79 n 



THE COLUMNS OF THE SUN AT BAALBEC 

IN time long vanished thousands gathered here, 
To greet rejoicingly the God of Day, 
That on his mystical, majestic way 
Dispersed the terrors of their nightly fear. 
The Sun still grandly keeps on his career. 
To destinations thought cannot betray, 
While those who did his sovran rule obey 
Have blent with desert dust this many a year. 

Of all the Temple's columns but remain 
A few that still caress the orphaned plain, 
Which spreads afar its melancholy waste. 
Here desolation mocks the cities' pride. 
For they shall Life's hot fevers madly taste, 
And soon or late be borne on Death's great tide. 



C 80 -2 



THE ORGAN 

/\M0NG the organ pipes he stood to bare 
The secrets of their heart and how arrayed, 
While on its structure tenderly he laid 
His practiced hand in more than loving care. 
Then moved by far-off voices he sat where 
In ecstasy he so divinely played, 
That earth and all its evils seemed to fade 
As hallowed rapture filled the tremulous air. 

O striking wonder that from out this thing 
Of massive wood and iron at touch should spring 
The sounds that stir us to the bosom's core — 
The sounds that lie in Nature's varied breast, 
From angry ocean's fear-compelling roar 
To that of leaflet by the breeze caressed. 



c 8i :i 



CHURCH-BELLS 

JriOW sweet and clear the Sunday church-bells 

sound 
In memory's halls as in the olden days, 
And then I see my mother robed for praise, 
With her dear heart to adoration bound. 
The village seemed with consecration crowned, 
All worldliness forgot, and all dismays. 
As the processions went their several ways, 
To hear the reverend man the Word expound. 

Remembrance comes from out that far, far time, 
Until its voices in mellifluous chime 
Sound as the prelude to eternal airs ; 
And as the heavens unroll I seem to see 
Not Science bold that every province dares, 
But humble Faith that sets the spirit free. 



C 8^ 3 



A STREET IN OLD MONTEREY 

What brooding solemness all things here wear : 

Silence has fallen to its utmost deep, 

And Night's first stars their twinkling vigil keep 

O'er these old houses Time still loves to spare. 

Within these walls what sefioritas fair 

Were fain the ecstasy of love to reap, 

As the fandango with its whirling sweep 

Sped onward to the flying hours' despair. 

Forever gone those times of gay romance, 

Of mission grandeur, the bewildering dance. 

And all the dramas of the olden day; 

Nought now remains but memories strongly stirred 

By pictures such as this that come to stay 

In one immortal, ever-glorious word. 



c 83 :} 



A CAGED EAGLE 

IHE eagle beats against his bars in vain, 
As he beholds the vast outspreading sky- 
Mocking his passionate, bemoaning cry 
For bounding joys now turned to hopeless pain. 
No more like thunder can he fall amain 
Upon the quarry in his triumph high. 
Nor all the legions of the air defy 
In search of food his children to maintain. 

What thoughts are his as day by lengthening day 

He feels his pinions rusting fast away. 

That made him sharer of the lightning's glee ; 

And as from summit of his ice-crowned rocks 

All universal space was his to see, 

How could he dream of slavery's chains and locks ! 



C 84 ■} 



AN OLD MINER AT SHASTA WITH THE 
HAUNTS OF OLD 

IVlY boyhood voices call me and I go 
Where roamed I freely when my feet were young, 
When mountain, wood, and stream their glories sung 
To every moment that my heart could know. 
Here toiled for gold, in fiercest joy and woe, 
Great swarms of men from all creation sprung ; 
Now they are gone, from life's great issues flung 
Like breakers when the winds in fury blow. 

In those rare days the blood ran hot and high. 
Yet now in peace the towering mountains lie. 
While all the village drones the hours away. 
Here precious Memory strikes her deepest note. 
As once again the Past floods all the day. 
And on its bosom I contented float. 



c 85 :\ 



EGYPT 

IHOU world-entrancing Egypt, matchless one, 
Before whose majesty the nations kneel, 
To drink from thy exhaustless cup and feel 
Through every vein its magic ichor run. 
Lone as Sesostris in thy burning sun, 
Thou hast on Time so well impressed thy seal. 
That all the ages, as they round thee wheel. 
Proclaim forevermore "Like thee there's none!" 

Change has thy bosom trenched in ruthless ways, 

Yet still thy Sphinx in royal calm surveys 

The desert sands inimitably far ; 

And thine own Nile, by every year caressed. 

Obeying thy propitious, fulgent star. 

Still bears the food of millions on its breast. 



C 86 ] 



TO THE MUMMY OF PRINCESS ISIS 

PRESENTED BY JEREMIAH LYNCH TO THE BOHEMIAN 
CLUB, SAN FRANCISCO, MAY 5, I914 

IHOU art not dead, thou maid of mummied guise, 

For thou arousest all the centuries gone, 

And in our dreams, by memory's potence drawn, 

Egypt before us in her splendor lies. 

This princess has beheld with pride-lit eyes 

The Gods' procession, gazed enraptured on 

Thebes' mighty fane, heard Memnon greet the dawn, 

And saw the Sphinx in wonder's realm arise. 

Unrivalled land, within whose brimming bowl 
The nations of the earth have steeped their soul. 
Thy child we welcome to her alien shore ; 
To us she seems an ever-living sprite 
From out the mystic, shadow-land of yore, 
To shake new glories from her wings of light. 



C 87 -} 



THE OLD SWEETHEART 

(After the French of Ronsard) 

When at the candle-Ught, an aged crone, 
You wind and spin anear the evening blaze, 
You'll murmur, as you marvelling sing my lays, 
Ronsard famed me when I was Beauty's own. 
And then your maid, raised to such novel zone. 
Whom labor's somnolence inveterate sways. 
Will rouse herself as Ronsard's song of praise 
Blesses your name with an immortal tone. 

A boneless phantom then in earth I'll lie. 
Taking my last repose where myrtles sigh, 
While at the hearth you'll crouch with head of gray- 
My love lamenting and your proud disdain. 
Live now, and know tomorrow's care is vain : 
Oh, gather life's rich roses while you may. 



Of this ^^ famous ionnct,'"'' an English •version of nv hick is here 

attempted, fohn Bailey, in his ivork on *^^The Claims 

of French Poetry,'''' says: ^^ There are feiv 

finer sonnets in any language!''' 



n 88 3 



THE OLD DOCTOR 

JrllS office in confusion ever lay — 

Books, herbs, and vials scattered all around, 

But things were cornered where they could be found, 

As oft he chose the healing drug to weigh. 

With shoulders bowed, and hair of snowy gray. 

With patient feet that shuffled o'er the ground. 

And hands wherein all tenderness was bound. 

He glorified his duties day by day. 

From his great soul Learning had not been banned. 
But his the power of the master hand 
That made him king in presence of distress ; 
And what can take the place of his keen eye. 
His consecrated toil, his zeal to bless. 
The confidence in him when he was nigh^ 



I 89 ] 



CARCASSONNE 

(After Gustave Nadaud) 

iVlY years are many — sixty they; 
My whole life long I've labored hard, 
Yet with it all nought would allay 
My great desire still ever barred. 
Ah, here below right well I see 
No perfect joy has any one : 
What I most wish is not for me — 
I have not yet seen Carcassonne ! 

Behind yon mountains dimly blue 

They see the glorious City lie ; 

But ah, to reach it one must do 

Five long, long leagues, then homeward hie, 

Till all the toilsome way be stepped. 

Were but a bounteous vintage done, 

Or had the grapes unyellowed kept ! — 

I never shall see Carcassonne ! 

They say that during all the days. 
The same as on a Sunday, there 
The ones who pass along the ways 
New clothes, and fine, white dresses wear. 
They say too that the chateaux' walls 
Are grand as those of Babylon, 
A Bishop and two Generals ! — 
And still I know not Carcassonne ! 

C 90 ] 



Much sense is in the vicar's head : 

We're so imprudent, that I ken. 

In his oration well he said 

Ambition 'tis that ruins men ; 

And yet, if only two days I 

Could find when Autumn tasks were done, 

My God ! contented would I die 

Once having gazed on Carcassonne ! 

Dear God, thy pardon I bespeak 
If my prayer gives offense to Thee ; 
For things beyond us still we seek 
In old age as in infancy. 
My good wife, with my son Aignan, 
Has journeyed far as to Narbonne; 
My godson has viewed Perpignan, 
Yet I have not seen Carcassonne ! 

So, once there sang anear Limoux 

A peasant by his years bent low, 

To whom I said : "Friend, rise, and you 

With me shall on this journey go." 

We left the next succeeding day ; 

But, — God forgive him ! — ere he'd gone 

Scarce half the distance dead he lay : 

He never looked on Carcassonne ! 



c 91 :i 



THANKSGIVING, 1918 

JtAR up the mountain peaks of song 
Where ecstasies of glory blow, 
Where all the heartsome jewels throng 
That deep-souled thankfulness can know, 
My longing Muse with hallowed feet 
Would step the ways that are complete. 

Not since the blessed Jesus came 
To clothe and feed the starving world 
Has such a heaven-directed flame 
Upon the breast of earth been hurled, 
Or Justice, crowned with stars of Right, 
So lifted man to hills of light. 

On this our own Thanksgiving Day 
Our swelling hearts would now implore 
The mind to drop its sordid clay. 
And on the spirit's pinions soar 
To realms of sempiternal fire 
That burn around the soul's desire. 

O God, we bless thee for this time 
In words so poor it makes us weep ; 
But who can sing the word sublime 
That lies beyond all soundings deep. 
And with its fellows looms so high 
It roams with them the farthest sky. 

C 92 1 



ON NEW YEAR'S EVE 

IHE Old Year's face is sadly pinched and wan, 
His voice is very low, his heart is sere, 
And well we know that ere another dawn 
He'll be no longer here. 

But ere he goes we'll take his withered hand 
And thank him for the largess he bestowed. 
For all the joys that went at his command 
With us along Life's road ; 

For that companionship of perfect bloom. 
The latest one whereof now flowers today. 
When every melancholic imp of gloom 
With cheers is chased away. 

Another year is on our heads, yet we 
Responsive sit around this bounteous board, 
With joy-delighted hearts and eyes to see 
Life's ever precious hoard. 

We give no lamentations to the Year 
Who soon from us will be forever gone, 
For though Life brews for us full many a tear. 
Still Hope leads bravely on. 



C 93 1 



Then let the storm sweep furious through the skies, 
Undaunted we'll await the conquering Sun, 
While from our hearts the old-time prayer shall rise, 
God bless us every one ! 



LIFE'S JEWELS 

Seek not life's jewels where the poppies grow, 
Nor where Desire, all passion-poisoned, rears 
Her luring domes, but in the heart of woe, 
With shores far washed by sanctifying tears. 



RICHES 

All that life's ocean infinitely bears 
Of joys beyond the greatest may be thine, 
For everything is his who nobly dares, 
And he that truly serves is then divine. 



I 94 ] 



DE MORTUIS 



DEATH 

What is it to be dead ? But yesterday 
Her sparkling eyes beamed on me with delight, 
Her cheeks with color of the rose were bright, 
And on her lips wild laughter ran at play ; 
But now in silence these have fled away : 
Ice-cold her pallid face that holds no sight, 
Her limbs are motionless, her breast locked tight, 
Nor could she e'en to me one poor word say. 

Life's vernal blooms scarce flowered at her call. 

When Death's untimely winter killed them all. 

And they with her irreparably lie. 

Thou faded loveliness, can it be said 

Thou wast but born to take a breath and die *? 

No, no, it cannot be that thou art dead. 



C 96 : 



THE GRAVE 

What eye has seen the bottom of the grave 
Since first the plasma shook with dawning light 
Till Evolution with its age-long might 
To man new wonders in revealment gave? 
Like that far one who in his darksome cave 
Ate the raw flesh he won in bloody fight, 
So all have had the same defeated sight, 
Devil or saint, the skulker or the brave. 

Yet Life her bounty pours on every scene : 
This great tree, once a miracle of green. 
Falls to the waiting earth and is no more ; 
But other lives from out its ashes spring, 
And gathering to themselves new-hearted store 
Pursue their courses on triumphant wing. 



n 97 3 



WHY FEAR? 

Why should I fear, O Death, to be laid low 

When all life riots in my laughing veins ; 

Or tremble lest the armory of banes 

Be now preparing for my final blow ? 

To me thou seemest never as a foe, 

But as a kindly, loyal friend who deigns 

To lead me with incalculable pains 

Where every soul has gone and all must go. 

What matters if we fall when life is sweet. 
When happiness is flowering round our feet. 
Or consummation settles on the head ; 
The Eternal Voice proclaims we are to be, 
And that around us shall forever spread 
The heartening wonders of divinity. 



I 98 ] 



CONSOLATION 

/\.H, one by one from Life's earth-spreading tree 
They fell bedewed with all good men's regret, 
And though my heart enshrines their memory, yet. 
The poignant hurt of loss still lives with me. 
What radiant souls were theirs for eyes to see ; 
What lions in their way they bravely met, 
Till on their strife-worn brows were blazoning set 
The everlasting stars of Victory. 

O noble ones, my griefs I throw aside, 
For death your labors has but sanctified 
And passed you on for labors greater still ; 
For what is Life, or Death, in every mood, 
But the expression of the mighty will 
Which holds the sceptre of concentred Good. 



n 99 3 



LOVE 

V_yF all the members of the angel choir 
Love fills the uttermost exalted seat, 
In every blessedness so all complete 
She bears the blazon of celestial fire. 
She fears no host of hell's consuming ire, 
E'en when in awfulness of war they meet, 
But gathering agonies around her feet, 
She suages them with balms of her desire. 

All things are hers beneath Life's various sky, 

And did she flee Service would pine and die, 

And man in unrestraint his brother tear. 

The Universe itself is of her store. 

For were her blessings left outside her care. 

The blackened earth would know its God no more. 



Z loo 



BEHOLD THE SEASONS 

ijEHOLD the Seasons: Spring with breast of bloom, 
Summer whose harvests glorify the ground, 
Autumn with every consummation crowned. 
And Winter folding all within his tomb ; 
Where then at sleep within its fecund womb. 
They feed on rest for their recurring round. 
With each in turn its special guerdon found, 
Year after year, and absolute as doom. 

Who doubts the coming of the blessed rain. 
Or deems the gendering Sun will shine in vain, 
Or cease to breed the clouds upon the sea*? 
Life in its vastness is an ordered whole. 
Nor can the least of all its creatures be 
Without the inspiration of a goal. 



c loi :i 



BEHOLD THE SKIES 

IHE dazzling splendor of the skies behold 
When Day is fled and gently brooding Night 
Leads out her train in golden glory dight, 
As she has done for ages yet untold. 
Unpausing and unhasting they have rolled, 
By some transcendently colossal might, 
Through boundless space so infinitely right 
They keep their vasty orbits as of old. 

Could Chance and Chaos, each forever blind, 

Void of all form, of sense, desire, or mind, 

Have caused these spheral harmonies to be *? 

Ah, no : The order evermore divine 

Strikes every chord of all immensity. 

Till even the smallest voice bears music's sign. 



C i°2 ;] 



PROOF OF GOD 

iJoST ask for proof of God*? Thou mayst as well 
Ask of the daisy on its lowly throne 
Whence, how, or why its loveliness has grown. 
Or seek the secret of the Poet's spell. 
Unwavering Faith is what their Voices tell. 
For when their hearts lie close against thine own 
Until their pulse-beats thrill thee to the bone. 
Doubt's demons perish in their self-made hell. 

In vain does Reason beat its haughty wings 

Within the realm of inner-hearted things, 

To fold at last in Logic's dull despair. 

Yea, Mystery lies at Being's very core. 

And nourished by divine, eternal care, 

Walks veiled on Death's dim-lighted, lonely shore. 



C 103 1 



THE SPIRIT'S REALM 

Who dares to deem that on some new far day 
The doors now locked will then be opened wide, 
Wherethrough the Nymphs of Knowledge, big with 

pride, 
Will pass triumphant on their certain way *? 
But were this to its roots achieved, could they 
Explore the region where the Muses bide, 
Or from the bosom of the spirit's tide 
Its secrets in the hands of Science lay *? 

The grief which stirs the billows of the breast, 
Like that sweet sympathy which gives them rest, 
Defies the cunning of the weigher's scales : 
The Spirit lives where grossness cannot come. 
And there the Soul, tormented by its ails. 
Hears saving voices when the rest are dumb. 



C 104 '} 



RELIGION 

JLvELIGION, warder of the earthly scene, 
Sways her great sceptre o'er the heart of things, 
And on the grievous wound her mantle flings, 
When dark Despair unlades his heavy teen. 
Her gentle ministrants, with power serene, 
Bear the struck soul on softly muffled wings 
To where real life with heavenly music sings. 
And where spread worlds of everlasting green. 

Grod reigns, no matter what the fool may say. 
And when we learn with all our souls to pray. 
We then to Him in closest bonds are bound. 
Science can satisfy our body's needs, 
But 'tis Religion, with her graces crowned, 
That all the hungers of the Spirit feeds. 



Cios;] 



COMPLETENESS 

JLJEATH never dies, nor Life, but as a pair, 

Inseparably twinned, they ever hold 

The Universe's myriads, young and old, 

Within the ministrations of their care. 

The death-reaped soul, that did the burdens bear 

Of service dearer than the dearest gold. 

Lies not in some dark, life-defying fold, 

But mid the glories of celestial air. 

Yea, even the smallest atom never dies 
But Life triumphant to its deathbed flies. 
As in the grief-drawn tear there sleeps a smile. 
Change is Creation's wonder-breathing soul. 
And ceaseless toils, well knowing all the while 
Divine Completeness is the destined goal. 



C io6 3 



BELIEF 

oCIENCE and Intellect all proudly soar 
To every height that challenges the eye, 
And in the shallows and the ocean pry 
For wealth to swell their still increasing store. 
The deepest secret would they not pass o'er, 
Nor any problem howsoever high. 
And e'en the Universe's heart they try. 
Its very dearest chambers to explore. 

But all experiment and logic fail 
Against the mystic, spirit-woven veil 
Which hangs before all Being's inner shrine : 
The eye of Science sees man as a clod. 
While all his voices hail him the divine. 
Immortal subject of Almighty God. 



1 107 :i 



LIFE AND DEATH 

IT is decreed all things shall have an end, 
E'en loveliest forms with beauty all endued, 
Yet with what agony we oft have sued 
Relentless Death his arrow not to send. 
Ah, Life would thus its energies expend 
Upon the hopes that blossom to delude, 
For it would grow to baneful plenitude 
If kindly Death did not its service lend. 

These are two angels who with ministering care 
Bestow their gifts in even-handed share 
According to the just, eternal Will; 
And in the spirit-haunted, boundless space 
How can we doubt that every seeming ill 
Shall in the end all blessedness embrace *? 



C io8 ] 



MONSTER OR GOD 

1 T may be that some demon, past all peers, 
That no imagination could portray. 
Has infinite power to torture or to slay. 
Still keeping brimmed his reservoir of tears ; 
One who commands the reins of all the spheres. 
And drives them through the hells of havoc's play, 
As meaningless as would be this our day, 
If on the earth were ended Life's careers. 

'Tis monster then or God — a power divine 
That bears Completeness as its sacred sign. 
Or vast confusion of chaotic death ; 
And through the thinning mist of Doubt we hear 
Faith's tenderly compelling voice that saith. 
Come now with me and cast away all fear. 



C 109 1 



*% OF THIS BOOK TWO HUNDRED COPIES 

WERE PRINTED IN THE MONTH OF APRIL 

NINETEEN HUNDRED & TWENTY 

BY TAYLOR ^ TAYLOR 

SAN FRANCISCO 




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